April Fools
by Dlvvanzor
Summary: It's Matt and Mello's first April Fool's Day out of Wammy's House- which means that all their prank-related energy will have to be directed at each other... and Mello wakes up to Matt writing something on his forehead. MxM oneshot, fluff. Mello POV


**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note. Pranks courtesy of Aprilfoolzone dot com.**

**A/N: Happy April Fool's Day! XD Yeah I started this a LOOONG time ago.**

**Hooray for meaningless fluff! ****

* * *

**Seeing your best friend leaning over you, his tongue in the corner of his mouth, completely focused on your forehead with a marker in his hand is not something you wake up to on your average day. Today, however, it was the very first thing I saw. It didn't initially occur to me what he must be doing, so at first I was just overwhelmed by the scent of him, by his rare closeness.

Maybe it was because he knew I was gay that he always kept at least a few inches between us. I mean, I knew that he didn't care that I was into guys. Seriously, he isn't like that and plus, this is _me_. He worships the damn ground I walk on, thanks; nothing could change that. Especially not something as insignificant as which team I play for. No, I had long ago come to the realization that the reason he kept that space between us was not for his comfort, but for my own. He didn't want me to think that he was being insensitive. Since he must have been able to tell how I've always felt about him, even if I'd never technically even told him that I was gay. Everyone knows it. Sadly, the fact that he went so far out of his way to give me a comfortable amount of personal space just makes me love him more, if that's even possible at this point.

Anyway, he was leaning over me, and I took the opportunity to subtly check him out. He was just so damn _beautiful_ that it was absurd. How could I have been expected to room with him all those years ago and _not_ develop feelings for him? They should have put me with Linda- no chance of me being attracted _there_. Matt must have finished whatever he was doing (which felt suspiciously like he was writing on my forehead) because he straightened up, smirking smugly, and capped his marker. Yep, definitely writing on me, and judging by the smell it was _permanent_ marker. Depending on what he wrote, I'd have to kill him for it later, after I got a little more sleep.

I realized, as my brain slowly ground back to life from my short night of restless sleep, that it was April Fool's Day. AKA, _the_ perfect day to go drawing a dick on my forehead or something. There was an added bonus of the fact that neither of us had to work that day (do _you_ want to go into a room full of Mafia men on April Fool's Day? Yeah, neither do I), leaving us with a crapload of one-on-one time to make each other miserable.

I had been planning for this day for months. Our first April Fool's Day spent together outside of Wammy's House, and I was gonna make it a living Hell. For him, at least. For _me_, it was gonna be hilarious.

Through the tiny slits to which I allowed my eyelids to open, I could tell that it was still dark out. It was probably about four in the morning- as a gamer, he would want to be getting to sleeping right now.

This was confirmed by the creak of his bedsprings as he climbed back under the covers.

Perfect, because _my_ first prank of the day required him to be asleep.

He usually konked out pretty quickly, so I waited half an hour before making my move. When I heard his breathing even out, I snuck out of the room and to the linen closet, selecting a large, white sheet.

Using my Mafia-toned skills, I crept into the room, dead silent, carefully unfolding the sheet as I went.

Perfect. He was on his back. I couldn't have asked for a better setup.

I got into position.

And then I shrieked, "FUCK! MATT! THE CEILING IS CAVING IN!"

He shot up in bed at the loud sound of his name, shouting in alarm, and I flicked out the sheet and brought it down on him.

He screamed and thrashed around, yelling for me to take cover and leave him, and I laughed at him until finally he realized that what was on his head was not drywall but cheap cotton.

When he stopped flailing, he simply sat under the sheet for a moment. Even his sheet-covered profile was adorable, especially when he turned his head to look where he knew I was.

"Good one," he said approvingly.

"You totally fell for it," I informed him.

"...Can I take the sheet off, now?"

"Yes."

As he removed it, I patted him fondly on the head (puppy) and then swept out of the room, still chuckling. I was gonna pay for that one, but that was how we did April Fool's Day. He had won last year with a very-brilliant 'dying Near blue' scheme. His hair, his skin, and all of his clothes in different shades. I couldn't beat that. Nobody could, and I wasn't even going to try. But this year I had no one to focus on but him, so he was going to feel all of my available prank-related wrath.

Knowing that dying _me_ blue would cross the unspoken boundaries we had set for ourselves (nothing permanent or very long-lasting, nothing physically harmful), I felt safe in taking a shower. I exited with caution, however, because it was distinctly possible that he would soak all the towels in ice water or something.

Nothing. Hm...

Shrugging, I climbed out and turned to the mirror to comb my... where was the mirror?

It was gone. There was just _wall _where it was supposed to be, a big scar on the paint that must have been a result of the previous owners hanging it up.

Why did he take away the mirror? What had he written on my head that was so bad he didn't want me to see it?

Well, he could just wait until he saw what I did to the toilet. Thank you, cellophane. Luckily, we also had a rule that the victim had to clean up the prank when it was over, _so_ I wouldn't be in charge of his piss splatters all over the bathroom. Perfect revenge.

I exited the bathroom, combing my fingers through my wet hair, very pleased with my future cellophane trick, when Matt came running up to me, holding a coffee-drenched piece of paper. "Shit, Mels, was this important?"

He held it up, and yes, it was important. It was the new recruit list for May and _yes it was fucking important_! "Matt! What the fuck? How did you spill _coffee_ on a fucking _Mafia_ document? You know there's only one copy of things like-"

He was laughing.

"WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING, ASSHOLE?"

"It's a photocopy."

I glared at him, grabbed at the paper, crumpled it up, and tossed it at his face, where it comically slid down and landed on the carpet with a plot. Hooray, another stain for the carpet.

"You're lucky," I glowered at him. "That had been real, I'd be tearing you apart right now. Now go pour my cereal, bitch."

He nodded, bright red for some reason, following me to the kitchen and hesitating at the door.

I gave him a superior look and plopped down on my usual chair...

Which promptly collapsed under me.

Laughing, he pulled a handful of screws out of his pocket while I casually gave him the middle finger and took _his _chair.

Still chuckling to himself, clearly satisfied, he grabbed a box of Cocoa Puffs and poured some into a bowl, and then he fixed what he expected to be Raisin Bran, doing a double-take when it came out as Froot Loops, which he hated.

I smiled sweetly at him, indicating that he should hurry the fuck up and pour the milk, and he glared, retrieving the milk.

"Milk's spoiled," he announced, pulling it out of the fridge and holding it up to me. It looked vaguely yellowish.

I shrugged. "So?"

"...What do you _mean_, 'so?' The milk is spoiled."

"I don't care."

"Mello! It's spoiled!"

"I don't care! Pass it over!"

Gaping at me but obedient as ever, he moved his laptop off of the little table so that he could place the milk in front of me.

I poured it onto my Cocoa Puffs and, without another thought, took a spoonful and ate it.

He stared in horror. "That doesn't... taste bad to you or something?"

I shrugged. "It's not spoiled."

"It's like... look at that color. It's spoiled."

"Take a whiff."

"Why would I smell milk that I _know_ is spoiled?"

"Fine." I stood up, walked around to his bowl, and poured _for _him.

"You're such an asshole," he informed me.

Without a word, I held the milk bottle under his nose.

"Mello!" he cursed, crinkling his nose.

Then he _finally_ noticed that it didn't smell bad in the slightest.

"Food coloring, idiot," I said cheerfully.

He stuck his tongue out at me (really? After spending so much time with me, he hadn't yet learned better comebacks?), reorienting his laptop so that it was as much on the table as possible. He liked to read the news online with breakfast. He did it every day. And you would think that a person as smart as he is would realize that, yeah, on April Fool's Day, you shouldn't do things that you do every day.

Because he lives with The Mello. Yeah. I'm _The_ Mello. Clearly. In fact, I was outperforming myself this year. Sheet, cereal, milk, and now his computer, all completely unexpected? I was just _so_ on a roll!

He logged in, fingers moving at the speed of light (this is why I loved to watch him hack. Those fingers), then frowned. He picked up his mouse and flipped it over, wiping at the sensor, tried again, failed again. Unplugged it, repeat, same result.

"Huh."

"What is it?"

"My mouse is moving so_ slow_," he said, bewildered. "Never seen that."

"I wonder what could have happened to it," I said innocently.

"Did you change the mouse speed?"

"...Maybe."

"Mello! It's gonna take me like twenty minutes to fix that just because the mouse is moving so damn slow!"

"Then you'd better get started, huh?"

He actually snorted in frustration. For him, _so_ ADHD, things moving slowly was a nightmare. Buuuut if he ever wanted to use his computer again, he would have to do it. Sometimes I amazed myself.

"So," I said conversationally, gulping down big bites of Cocoa Puffs, feeling the chocolate enter my bloodstream, "are pulling a Jigglypuff and pretending to have destroyed an important document all you got this year? Because the score is pretty uneven at the moment," I nagged him.

He looked at me, eyes soft. "Pulling a Jigglypuff?"

"Writing on my face while I was asleep? I would think _you_ of _all_ people would get-"

"Yeah, no. I got the reference." He shook his head. "It's just that you _made_ the reference, Mels. See, _this_ is why I l-" He slammed his mouth shut with an audible click of his teeth. Then, pretending he hadn't, he cast around the surface of the table for inspiration, noticing my spoon, halfway to my mouth. "So, spoons," he said pleasantly.

"Spoons? Really? You're gonna cut off whatever it is you were about to say- which sounded important, by the way- to bring up spoons?" I accused, putting my spoon back into the bowl.

Because it had sounded like... but no, there was no way, _no_ way, he had been about to say 'love.' He didn't love me. He was straight. Even if he _wasn't_ straight, he never dated. I'd known him since he was a toddler and he had never dated, not even once, so maybe he was asexual but he _certainly_ couldn't be in love with _me_. _I_ was obviously into guys, and you would think that, if he loved me (but he didn't because that couldn't be what he had been about to say), he would have propositioned it at least _once_. I mean... that doesn't happen. Guys with our story don't fall in love in real life. That's about as unlikely as two people randomly meeting online and realizing they're everything the other ever wanted and falling in love and _then_ meeting and then moving in together and getting fuckin' schnauzers or something. So Matt couldn't love me.

There. Glad I had worked that out with a nifty internal monologue.

I held up my spoon, the curved side facing me, and raised an eyebrow at him. "Spoons?"

He flinched.

That was when I made the wonderful connection that spoons are reflective, and grinned mischievously at him, holding the spoon up and tilting it so that I could read whatever was on my forehead...

I dropped the spoon. My brain ceased function. My heart, maybe in a vain attempt to make up for my brain, double-timed, and my head started spinning. My vision actually blurred a little, doubled, then went back to just being blurry.

_I love you._

He had written it backwards, so that I would be able to read it in a reflection.

"You weren't supposed to find out until later..." Matt mumbled, not looking at me.

I felt a little sick. I was sure my ribs were compressing. I had never gotten 'butterflies' like most people; I had always gotten physical pain. And only for Matt. Of all the Mafia guys I had fucked for fun and/or public relation reasons, the only one I had ever _liked_, let alone... you know... loved... was Matt.

"Matt..." I managed. "I-" He was raring up to say something else, and I knew I had to intercept him before he started wildly explaining or trying to lie his way out of it. So when he opened his mouth I interjected- "Love you, too."

His eyes went big and he slumped back in his seat, letting his head fall back over the chair, a huge breath escaping him.

"_Fuck_," he exhaled. "Thank Mario."

"If this is another April Fool's Day prank, tell me now."

"It's not."

"Don't fuck with me."

"Don't _you_ fuck with _me_."

"I'm not," I said defensively.

"Well I'm not either."

We were silent for a long moment.

"You've never even dated," I said quietly. "I thought you were, like, asexual. Or something."

"Definitely not," Matt said firmly. Then he softened. "It's just, nobody was you. Never wanted anyone else." If I hadn't already been in love with him... "But... I didn't know you were... you know..."

I stared at him. "Who the fuck doesn't know that I'm a great big fag? Idiot."

"Well you never _told_ me," he pointed out.

"I kind of thought the leather spoke for itself. _Seriously_, Matt? What did you _think_ I was doing with that one guy at Wammy's... what was his name..."

"Rane," Matt growled.

"That's right. What did you _think_ I was doing with him in the room when I kicked you out?"

"...Honestly? I thought you were playing video games. What... _were _you doing?"

I burst out laughing. "Everything _but_ playing video games, I'll tell you that much."

"I'm such a fucking idiot."

"Yeah, maybe. Speaking of which, why'd you do this on April Fool's day?"

He blushed again. So cute. Oh, and no I didn't have to pretend that I didn't find it cute!

"In case you flipped out," he mumbled. "I wanted to be able to take it back. I could just say 'April Fools.'"

"Well... don't take it back," I commanded quietly.

He chuckled. "Believe me. Not gonna happen."

I looked at him, cheesily loving him, and said, "Who won this year?"

"I dunno."

"By the way. You might not want to eat the cookies that are in the pantry."

"I know. I spiked them with laxatives."

I grinned at him and leaned across the diminutive table to kiss him gently, gently on the lips. He was bright red when I drew back, and I said, "Me too."


End file.
